Rikard’s eyes darkened. “More intel. Came into Matthias just as we started the meeting. Look, Michael, it’s not conclusive. OK?”
“Tell me. What?”
“Finnegan Moss went to ground about the time Chancellors were meeting at the GPM. When Celia Marsche took control. Even his staff hasn’t heard from him.”
“That could mean anything. Right?”
“Yes. But remember what I said when I came for you at the Pynn compound? About our informant who works for the most powerful Chancellor in Europe?”
“You meant Celia Marsche.”
“Yes, Michael. Our informant spotted Finnegan Moss.”
“Where?”
“The Scandinavian Consortium. Oslo. Marsche’s home city.”
He refused to believe it. “No, Rikard. Don’t you say it. I got to know him. Finnegan was there when I proposed to Sam. He has not been playing us.”
“I hope not, Michael, but what if the Entilles Club was an elaborate setup? What if he lured us in? What if it was his way inside the movement? If he and Celia Marsche have been …”
Michael showed Rikard the hand. “No. Fucking. Way. You better check back with your informant. He’s wrong.”
“It’s a she, but Matthias will follow up. I’m sorry, Michael.”
Michael did not want apologies. He wanted proof. I introduced him to Sam. I ate dinner with him. I ain’t his goddamn patsy.
He stalked away, beating a path beyond the outpost and into the forest. He found a boulder and plopped down against it.
“Goddamn it all.”
He tapped a pipe and inhaled a burst of poltash.
“He didn’t play me.”
No matter how many times Michael repeated the mantra, he couldn’t convince himself he was right. Had he grown too cocky for his own good? Was it because he thought of himself as a grown man now? Big, muscular, tough as nails. Paid assassin. A man to fear in the right context, unlike the naïve dumbass who barely escaped Alabama with his life. Hadn’t he been around Chancellors long enough to know when they didn’t pass the smell test?
He tapped his stream amp and opened a holocube. He sorted through options and raised a visual stack loader. He remembered what Raimi said: They must deliver messages to Chancellor admin stacks, not as live streams. Michael intended to record this message then allow Raimi to talk him through the transfer protocol. He fingered the loader, which triggered a reflection of his face. He didn’t want Sam to panic, so he forced a smile and began his message.
“Hey, babe. Here I am, hanging out on exile island. It ain’t too bad, really. I’d ask you to send jubriska, but I don’t exactly have an address. Just know I’m OK.
“Look, I heard what happened, and I’m not gonna lie. This looks bad for us. But the folks here … they’re good people, and they’re a shitload smarter than me. We’ll figure something out. I reckon you’re probably about to do something crazy.
“Don’t. OK? Last thing I want is to take you down with me. I joined this fight without telling you. I did it because I believe in the cause. I got no regrets … well, maybe one. I wish we’d had a chance to say a proper goodbye. I was dumb enough to think you’d be back in time for supper. Listen, Sam, there’s no telling how much time I’ve got, but I’m gonna do everything right so I can come home.
“Trust me. Please? I’m a big boy now. And I love you with every damn breath I take. See you soon. Promise.”
33
Lioness, command-and-control ship
Salvation Fleet
O PHELIA TOMELIN FIRST contemplated suicide when she heard reports about the SkyTower death toll. She was waiting inside the Passaic Dawn while James, Valentin, and Rayna plundered a supply depot in the Centauri system. It was their last stop before rescuing the other eight Jewel hybrids. When they returned with a large stash of weapons, she spoke of the nightmare they left behind on Earth. Valentin winced in a split-second of remorse, but James and Rayna kissed, the glow in their eyes intensifying.
“Now they know us,” James said.
Rayna grinned. “Universe does not need so many assholes.”
It would have been easiest to end the misery then and there. Perhaps she could have blown the ship and stopped the body count at a hundred thirty thousand. But she clung to a relentless notion: I can save them. I can show them the right path. The Chancellory betrayed them; did they not deserve another chance for redemption? A new life free from their genetically designed purpose?
Ophelia adhered to those stubborn notions even as bloodstains thickened, kidnappings intensified, and James and Rayna wrapped themselves inside a blissful madness. I can save them.
She thought it two years later, as she tutored Rikhi Syed, an immortal boy recently recovered during an attack on Brahma. Ophelia recognized Rikhi’s insecurity whenever they met. Not every child embraced the transition his new masters required: Surrender all conceits of mortality and prepare for pain without end.
Today, she tried a new approach with the boy, stripping the Transition Room of everything except two large pillows, upon which they sat, legs crossed. Ophelia launched a holocylinder twenty feet in diameter, ceiling-high. Images of flowers in bloom and sounds of waves lapping against sand overwhelmed their senses. Rikhi studied them with frustrated eyes.
“I don’t understand the symbolism,” he said. “Why does it have to be so hard?”
“Come now, Rikhi. You can’t offer an educated guess?”
“No. The flowers are beautiful; they dance in the wind. The waves lap the sand in and out, in and out.”
“What does the contrast suggest?”
“Back home, I ran the edge of the Omanpuri Shelf. Sometimes, there were waves as tall as this ship. I almost fell a few times. The waves, they would’ve taken me out to sea and buried me.”
She’d seen these symptoms often: Initial euphoria blended with intense curiosity after arriving at Salvation followed by lingering doubts and homesickness. Worst, an inability to conceive what “limitless life” implied. She supported hundreds of others through the worst of the transition. As with Rikhi: I can save you.
“Rikhi, the contrast should be obvious. Flowers show their best colors for a fleeting period then wither and die. The water laps against the shore for thousands of years. It is as endless as the planet itself. As it is with limitless life. Do you understand?”
“I think so. I am both these things now?”
She answered Rikhi’s question according to a script Valentin prepared more than a year ago.
“The water is your mind’s capacity. The flowers are the cycles of love and loss.”
“I tried to love, but I was hated. My whole family was hated.”
“You must never think about them, Rikhi. Do you understand? They were not your family.” The script, which answered every new immortal’s potential defiance, played in Ophelia’s head. “They were thieves who denied you the truth. Admiral Valentin and Brother James are your only truth. They will give you purpose so you will find fulfillment in limitless life.”
“I don’t understand. If I cannot die, haven’t I already been given the greatest gift?”
Most immortals asked this question.
“The fear of death motivates the living. Remove it, and life loses all sense of urgency. You must find a reason to live. Legacy is what mortals stake during their brief journeys. Legacy is not essential to immortals. There is no competition, no race, no hierarchy. An immortal is a witness to the expanse of history.”
Ophelia recited the words so often she’d become immune to their allure. At a philosophical level, she did not disagree with the ideas. Rather, the notion that children might appreciate them while dealing with recent trauma made little sense. What Rikhi said next, she heard only twice before.
“Is there any way I can die and never come back?”
“We shouldn’t talk like that.”
“Don’t I deserve to know?”
She veered off-script because Valentin never wrote a response.
“I suppose there are ways. If you died in the vacuum of space and no one retrieved your body, perhaps. If you were atomized or incinerated at a genetic level, perhaps.”
“So, if I ask Brother James to kill me …”
“Rikhi, do you want to die?”
The boy looked away, his eyes landing on the holocylinder.
“No. But I’m not sure I want to live, either.”
Her neck hairs stood up. “Listen to me, Rikhi. Listen carefully. Do not ever say those things outside this room. Admiral Valentin and Brother James expect absolute loyalty. More than this, they demand gratitude for saving you.”
“I didn’t want to be saved. The other children, they’re excited. They plan to fight and die over and over for Admiral Valentin and Brother James. They say there’s no greater honor.”
Ophelia choked on her pride. “Maybe they’re right, Rikhi. One day, the Jewels and the immortals will have a home world of their own. Isn’t that worth fighting for?”
“I miss Brahma.”
She sighed. Although Rikhi was not the most stubborn new immortal she transitioned, Ophelia lacked the patience or resolve to see this through. And what exactly was she saving him for?
She didn’t mind when her admin stack tripped with an incoming message. Ophelia double-flicked her eyes and stared into Valentin’s cold, elusive features.
“I’m outside. Make an excuse and join me. Leave the boy.”
She tapped away from the stack.
“Rikhi, you will have two minutes of peace. Reexamine your feelings. I’ll expect a more agreeable stance when I return.”
Valentin dove straight into business after the door slid behind her.
“I’ve been monitoring his sessions. You are not doing your job.”
Ophelia chose her words with care. “As always, Valentin, I try to adhere to script. I have suggested you make changes for the defiant ones. You’ve never provided the wording.”
“Because I never thought you mindless. You are perfectly capable of adapting. However, your response about incineration and the vacuum of space was unnecessarily blunt. You are losing your touch, Ophelia. We’ve had the conversation before about what happens when your usefulness disappears.”
“Did James threaten to incinerate me again?”
“My brother is on a mission today. More indigos to turn.”
“Yes. The great crusade to achieve … what exactly?”
“Enough, Ophelia. I’ll take over Rikhi Syed’s case. I’ll leave you to contemplate what this means for your future.”
She neither wanted to argue nor beg for another chance, so Ophelia started for her quarters. However, she couldn’t leave her curiosity unquenched.
“Tell me, Valentin,” she said. “Has James touched him?”
“He kissed the boy on Brahma, but he hasn’t touched.”
“And why not? It seems to accelerate the transition.”
Valentin rolled his prodigious eyes. “My brother is being more selective. He only shares with those whose loyalty is guaranteed. Why pass along his treasure to doubters?”
“Interesting. He never hesitated to touch every Chancellor scientist or peacekeeper defector in this fleet. What’s changed?”
Valentin shook his head as he opened the door.
“Remember how grateful we were two years ago? Such a shame it’s come to this, Ophelia.”
He disappeared inside. And he was the reasonable one.
“Such a shame,” she whispered.
Ophelia once again contemplated suicide. Every logical bone suggested now was the time. How much longer before they barged into her quarters and hauled her off to receive a death sentence at Brother James’s hand? If Valentin was stepping in to handle transitions, they must be nearing the end of immortal rescues. If a big move was coming, as whispers suggested, Ophelia saw no purpose to go on.
Except for one. The niggling possibility she dismissed as too insane to succeed. The curve they’d never see coming amid their delusions of godhood. But she didn’t want to hurt the children; none of this was their fault. She might have left it there but for an unexpected moment which buoyed her spirits.
Ophelia visited the Commons rather than ordering from a kiosk like usual. A violin concerto played against a holographic backdrop of the Earth’s most beautiful natural wonders. Scattered diners, most destined to live for centuries – blended with a handful of Chancellor engineers. One in particular caught her eye.
She heard of his arrival in the fleet months ago. Stationed aboard the transport Haven but working periodically in weapons research aboard Lioness. He wasn’t much different than Ophelia remembered. Slender, a tidy beard, bushy brows, and a twinkle in his eye representing a man much younger than he appeared.
What had it been? Seventeen years?
He waved her over with the same seductive grin she fell for during those weeks on Catalan.
“Magnus Levinson,” she said with professional courtesy, not wanting to rouse suspicion in her former lover’s dining companion.
He kissed her hand. “I was wondering if we’d ever meet.”
“They keep me busy, as I’m sure they do with you.”
“I suspect that’s the idea. Yes?” He turned to his companion. “Nathaniel Cay, this is Ophelia Tomelin. Have you had the honor?”
“No,” Nathaniel said, his features stoic. “I think the Triumvirate keeps you for themselves, Ophelia.”
“Triumvirate?” She winced. “I believe that term goes back to pre-history. Never heard them referred to that way.”
“We toss titles about.” He lowered his voice. “Three-headed horse seems disrespectful.”
“Indeed,” Magnus said. “We have nothing but the greatest respect for our benefactors.” He scratched the base of his nose, a tick Ophelia remembered from Catalan. Magnus was lying.
“How long will you be on Lioness?”
“Nathaniel will be returning to Haven in a few hours. For myself, it appears my stay is indefinite. Production has …” He paused, glancing toward Nathaniel. “Production has increased.”
“On what, might I ask?”
“You might, at another time.”
The immortal children weren’t watching, but she couldn’t be sure they weren’t listening. Every test verified the heightened intensity of their auditory skills.
“I see, Magnus. Well, it has been lovely to meet you, Nathaniel. Perhaps next time you visit Lioness, we’ll have more time to speak. Magnus, I trust they aren’t working you all hours?”
“Not at all. Our benefactors are quite reasonable.”
“Excellent. So, I was wondering. Have you had occasion to visit stellar dome? A truly spectacular experience.”
“I’ve been told one needs special dispensation for entry.”
“True. But as Nathaniel points out, I work with the Triumvirate. Special dispensation will not pose an obstacle.”
He kissed her hand again. “Perfect. I’d love to catch up. We can reminisce about Catalan.”
“True, but I was thinking less about the past. I thought the future would be a more interesting dialogue. Yes?”
34
V ALENTIN OCCUPIED THE CAPTAIN’S DAIS on the command bridge when his brother and sister-in-law returned from their mission on Tamarind. He was not pleased. His exclusion as the mission’s military commander did not sit well, but his time alone with young Rikhi Syed complicated matters further. Nonetheless, he played along as the Officers of Salvation saluted the returning heroes, sharing the glory with fellow Jewel and navigator, Ulrich Rahm.
“Brother James,” the officers shouted to great applause. “Another triumph! Sister Rayna! Victorious warrior!”
This sycophantic routine struck Valentin as childish, but James and Rayna took a lap around the bridge, hand-in-hand. Valentin remembered the old days, when he too relished adulation. But he’d been in this universe far longer.
When they reached the dais, Valentin leaned into them both.
“
If we fail to conquer the galaxy, I’d say the two of you should start a career in theater.”
Rayna kissed her husband’s cheek. “Does he mock us?”
“Yes.” James said with relish. “We deserve it. No matter. This is a day to celebrate.” He turned to the waiting Officers of Salvation.
“We established important new allies today. We proved ourselves as gods to the Khaavat and Tuvaan Mongol clans. They represent one-third the population of Tamarind. I reached out my hands,” he raised his palms, “and cured an entire hospital of Lumac’s Syndrome, which is a genetic disorder not curable by the Chancellory’s Genysen injections. I cured ten children at a ceremony by the River Ashkanya. Needless to say, I impressed them.”
The adoring officers cried as they thickened their applause.
“My wife,” James added, “did the rest.”
Rayna exalted in broken Engleshe, forelock hanging over her eyes.
“There was peacekeeper base at border of Tuvaan lands with Chinese. Guard tells natives it is to keep peace, but nowhere has there been war in fifty years. Chinese and Mongols say Chancellors steal children for experiment. They are filth.”
She looked off toward the stars, as if reflecting, but Valentin knew she was holding for dramatic effect. Her form of theater.
“Peacekeeper base is gone now. Only ash cloud.”
“Facilities like this,” James said, “plus Chancellor trade policies have kept the Chinese and Mongols from striking alliances. This will change once they appreciate what we offer. I intend to return in a few days to deliver a similar gift to a Chinese village outside Mandewatt. When the time comes, Tamarind will mobilize for us.”
Valentin was not sold. Asking downtrodden peoples to put their faith in so tiny a basket seemed militarily flawed, at best. Intelligence reports suggested the likelihood of pro-Salvation uprisings on six colonies when push turned to shove – more colonies than Salvation could support at once. And James insisted he needed half the Collectorate onboard before the final movement in his symphony.
James finished his address to the bridge. “Continue to compile reports from our agents and keep me abreast of any new political or military opportunities. If we continue at this pace, we may set foot on our new home world in two months.”
The Impossible Future: Complete set Page 82
