The Impossible Future: Complete set

by Frank Kennedy

  “OK, God. I need a miracle. If you’re out there, how about doing me a bigtime solid? Just this once.”

  Even as he said the words, Michael absorbed the truth his controls were revealing.

  There would be no miracles today.

  44

  Marsche Compound

  Ericsson Fjord, Scandinavian Consortium

  C ELIA MARSCHE FOUND PRIVACY BEFORE anyone realized she disappeared. The binary communicator that linked her to Brother James began vibrating for the first time since their initial contact. The timing sent her into a fleeting panic, but she slunk into the shadows, leaving her guest behind. The household staff had retired for the night. She stood alone in the family gallery, lights dimmed, wearing only a see-through gown.

  “I expected to have advance notice,” she said when Brother James appeared, as if he were standing three feet away.

  “You’re not in charge, Celia.”

  She despised looking upward at any man. Yet his sheer mass cowed Celia. He was light-years from Earth, unable to hurt her, yet Brother James owned her. She made the deal; if she turned back, he’d find a way to destroy her.

  “Nonetheless, Brother James, this is poor timing. If we might talk at a predesignated hour …”

  James laughed. “Of course, Celia. I’ll arrange a predesignated hour. I’ll make sure one of my ships arrives at your home by wormhole and levels your Chancellor palace with an energy slew.”

  “I am your ally. Remember that.”

  “What you are, Celia, is a tool. And I’m going to use you until I have everything I need. If you don’t betray me, I’ll deliver all those secrets you crave. Anything else, well … you will never see it coming. Understand?”

  She had no choice. “Yes. What do you need?”

  “So far, your efforts have produced a perfect symphony of chaos. The bulk of the Guard ships are days from Earth. You’ll have control. I am about to make a move of my own. I intend it to be decisive.”

  “What move?”

  “Shut up and listen to me. I have just learned of a complication. Samantha intends to fight back. She believes she can stop the war before the Guard arrives.”

  “How? She’s a pretender at best.”

  “Who you underestimate. Her father trained her to be a killer, and she is one of the wealthiest Chancellors in the world. I need you to stop her rebellion. But Celia, she is not to be harmed. Do you understand? Kill her rebellion but save Samantha for me.”

  She threw up her hands. “I suppose you still refuse to tell me why she is so important to you?”

  His scowl, combined with the heightened glow in his eyes, sent tremors through Celia.

  “If she dies, nothing else matters, and you get nothing from me.”

  “Fine. Yes. I understand. But my intelligence has reported nothing of this. How do you know what’s she planning?”

  His scowl disappeared. “Do you remember what I said last time?”

  She nodded. “You are the first day and the last day.”

  “Yes. And I have agents where you would never think to look.”

  She shrugged. “Of course, you do. And why not? You’re a god. Yes? Isn’t that what you told me?”

  “You don’t believe.” He backed away. “But you will. Save Samantha, kill all the others. I don’t give a damn about them.”

  “Of course, Brother James. I’ll take care …”

  James disappeared, and the communicator went dark.

  Celia felt it in her bones: This deal would be her downfall. She reached too far this time.

  She gathered up the communicator and retreated on cat’s feet, quickly chasing away the regrets and replacing them with a to-do list. She needed to begin with her Boston contacts and reassign one of her mercenary teams. How had a bewildering child such as Samantha Pynn dodged her surveillance network? There would be hell to pay if she found anyone on her NAC payroll shirking their responsibilities. No one in the Americus Presidium was supposed to breathe without her being told of their activities.

  This should have been locked down. Was Finnegan Moss as inept as she suspected him to be?

  She returned to her personal suite, prepared to change into more suitable dress. Her heart leaped when she turned on the lights and discovered him sitting upright in bed.

  At any other time, she would have given herself to Finnegan. He was a beautiful man, as powerful as many of the ex-Guard estate owners she bedded during her ascendancy. Pectorals were her favorite, and his bulged with the nuanced balance of shine and chest hair she preferred.

  “And where you have been?” He asked.

  “A Chancellor’s business never ends. Yes?”

  He lit a pipe and inhaled poltash.

  “Claiming the world for yourself is a full-time job,” he said.

  “Should have been done long ago.”

  “You might be right, Celia. Anything I can do to help?”

  She hesitated. Maybe crawling under the sheets wasn’t a bad idea, after all.

  “Actually,” she said, “I have a problem with a neighbor of yours. Perhaps you can offer a suggestion or two. Yes?”

  45

  Hinton Transport Station

  Philadelphia Redux, NAC

  B RAYLLEN HELMUT HATED THE FAMILIAL displacement agent. Her perfume reminded him of a fragrance worn by the bully who tortured him during his final weeks aboard the Ark Carrier Newton. She smelled of condescension and disdain, though she smiled with the gentle flavor of a mother’s substitute. Her assurances of exciting opportunities with a new descendancy seemed patronizing. Not once from her introduction at the Pynn estate to their arrival at Hinton did she mention the twins’ parents.

  When they disembarked on Tier 26 Platform G, the woman called Miss Lavender – she never mentioned a first name and Brayllen didn’t want to know – ran off a checklist of procedures. They were to stay in an overnight landing at the station while the necessary oversight panel finalized their displacement docs. In the morning, they’d leave for their new home in the Brasilia Collective.

  “Warmer there,” she said. “Considerably more humid. But more opportunity for you to grow. The NAC is overcrowded.”

  “We’ll be adults in a few months,” Brayllen pouted. “Why can’t we have temporary independent status?”

  “Afraid we do not operate that way on Earth. You will have a more flexible glidepath if you are legally tied to a descendancy. Yes?”

  She wore too much lipstick. He hated green eyes. Her nose was malformed. She hated her job, and she hated the twins. She was an invisible cog, a nobody, foisted on the twins by the woman who claimed to be their protector. Brayllen painted a complete picture and was damn well done with this woman.

  He cursed under his breath and faced Rosalyn, who flashed a wink of approval. Rosalyn always knew when the moment was right. She wasn’t going to hold him back this time.

  They crossed the pedestrian bridge en route to the transport core. Below them, twenty-five levels bustled with global and intersystem traffic.

  Rosalyn slowed, grabbed the barricade, and leaned over as if she fell sick. Miss Lavender shooed away her ever-present holocube and tended to Rosalyn.

  “Is it your stomach or the height?” The woman asked.

  “Height?” Rosalyn moaned. “I’ve lived on a Carrier all my life.”

  “I’m sure it will pass. A nice lie-down in the landing will settle you. Nerves disrupt every child during these transitions.”

  Brayllen looked to either end of the short bridge. Empty. As if someone scripted the moment.

  “There won’t be any transition,” he said.

  Miss Lavender never had a chance to turn around.

  Brayllen grabbed her high and low and flung her over. He didn’t hear her scream.

  Rosalyn took his hand and continued toward the transport core.

  “He’s here, isn’t he?” She asked.

  He felt Brother James settle a giant, comforting hand upon his shoulder. He heard distant whispe
rs and saw salvation nearby.

  “He says it’s time, Rosie.”

  “Good. We waited long enough. Where to, brother?”

  “Boston.”

  PART THREE

  REALIGNMENT

  The most important thing I want you to remember is this: I lived more in two years than most folks do in a hundred. Damn, what a ride. I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe. Made friends, made enemies, found the love of my life.

  And how about this for a real head-knocker: I led men and women into battle. Yep! Real, honest-to-goodness combat. Pew-pew, and all that jazz. Some folks even said I was a hero. Truth is, I don’t think there are any heroes in war. Just a shitload of people doing whatever it takes to see another sunrise.

  Smile whenever you think about me. No matter what happens next, I can honestly say I found my purpose, and I made a difference.

  46

  The Salvation Fleet

  T HE WORMHOLE APERTURE CLOSED, tossing Spearhead back into normal space. Chief Navigator Ulrich Rahm took pride in precise calculations that brought his ship to a thousand meters of the perfect spatial alignment with the fleet. Seventy-seven roundtrips without an error. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Valentin’s clear discomfort, his pale features. The giant immortal had yet to adjust to the distortions of Slope travel. Ulrich suspected the admiral’s child soldiers in the rear cabin were equally nauseous.

  Ulrich never joked openly about this deficiency, which only appeared to affect the immortals. Even their Chancellor and ex-peacekeeper allies showed no discomfort. He once mentioned his observations to Brother James, who sprouted a half-smile then told him to restrict these thoughts to their shared Jewel mind.

  “Don’t add to their insecurities,” James said. “Immortals don’t want to be reminded of their endless pain.”

  “The price of living forever?”

  James looked away, as if contemplating his answer.

  “An upset stomach will be the least of their problems.”

  As James changed the topic, Ulrich felt a cold shiver chase through his soul, as if he were standing in a bottomless pit of sadness. Perhaps he misread the moment; the shared mind was an imperfect communicator. Powerful emotions crisscrossed among the hybrids, often confusing the messages.

  Now, as he aligned Spearhead and began his flight shutdown procedures, Ulrich felt no such confusion. He heard Brother James grousing from inside the flagship Lioness. Impatient. Frustrated.

  “He says we’re late, Admiral,” Ulrich told Valentin. “He expects us in the executive quarters for a command-level strategy session.”

  Valentin unbuckled his restraints and swiveled about.

  “And what do you say, Ulrich?”

  “My numbers show we returned ten minutes ahead of schedule.”

  “As do mine. Given the complications we faced, I think we did an exceptional job. Yes?”

  “A rousing success, Admiral, with no casualties.”

  Valentin nodded. “I’m sure you’ll tell my brother just that. Yes?”

  “Of course, Admiral. I …”

  “In fact, why don’t you tell him before we dock.” Valentin tapped his own temple. “Set his mind at ease.”

  “Admiral, it’s hard to explain how our shared mind works. Brother James dictates the terms, depending upon his emotional state. He will listen to us or tune us out at his discretion. A moment ago, I felt him because he wanted me to. Now … nothing.”

  Valentin winced. “He shuts out the hybrids, as well?”

  “Only for our protection. James says his intellect is too vast. If he opens it to the shared mind for too long, he might overwhelm us.”

  “That makes no logical sense, Ulrich.”

  “What is logical about any of us, sir? We should be impossible.”

  Valentin headed aft. “Fair point. Finish your shutdown, Ulrich. The uplift will be here soon. I’ll debrief my soldiers.”

  Ulrich refocused on the navigation cylinder, examining the data emanating from the Carbedyne nacelles. He thought the starboard nacelle showed external scoring. Might be nothing, but …

  “One more thing.”

  Ulrich jumped at Valentin’s words. He thought the admiral had left the flight deck. Ulrich swiveled, and Valentin continued.

  “All of you have seen the change in him these past few days. Yes? The impatience, the short temper, the greater-than-usual arrogance.”

  Ulrich did not want to venture down this thorny path, but he couldn’t ignore the accuracy of Valentin’s point.

  “True, Admiral. He has become a bit more excitable since the Guard deployed troops back to Earth. But I think he sees an opportunity to accelerate our schedule and reach our home world sooner. It’s an admirable goal.”

  “Assuming we have the resources to achieve it. How much sleep have you had in the past week?”

  Valentin did not wait for an answer to yet another strong point. Yes, Ulrich’s workload doubled in the past few days, as it did for all navigators. Yes, he worried about wear on the Scrams, uplifts, and transports. Yes, post-flight maintenance intensified, creating more chances for support personnel to make crippling errors. But Ulrich couldn’t deny the exhilaration he sensed among the hybrids and the immortal army. They were willing to push themselves over the finish line, no matter the sacrifice. Chaos was working!

  After finishing his shutdown procedures and logging the maintenance requests, Ulrich caught the final moments of Valentin’s debriefing. The three soldiers, ages twelve to fourteen, stood tall and proud of their successful security effort on New Caledonia, their first field mission. He saw the sparkle in their eyes and the thrill when told their next mission might require full combat. Their admiral asked if they were ready, and they responded with a right-fisted salute over their heart.

  In a way, Ulrich envied them. Not long ago, each child was killed – shot through the head – and reborn to prove their immortality. Death was not their enemy. If anyone had concerns about the accelerated timetable, it wasn’t these three.

  Nor was it anyone they met after docking on Lioness. The ship seemed drenched in a kinetic energy which stirred Ulrich’s blood. Did they all sense the endgame nearing? Did the rogues and Chancellors believe their prizes were at hand? Nothing Ulrich saw or felt wholly supported Admiral Valentin’s skepticism.

  Indeed, when he and Valentin entered the executive quarters, conversations among those waiting were brisk and enthusiastic. Almost all the important players in this final stratagem were present, along with a few Ulrich did not expect. They huddled in small groups before holowindows. Most did not notice when the last attendees arrived, but Brother James acknowledged them, breaking away from Sister Rayna and triplet-carrying Ursula Amondala.

  “You decided to join us,” James said, advancing to his brother. “We’ve been getting a head start on just about the entire agenda.”

  Valentin held both hands behind his back and turned to Ulrich.

  “Inform my brother about our successful jaunt to New Caledonia and how we secured a blessing of loyalty from the A’Mauri Tribal Confederation. Apparently, he thinks we’ve been lingering.”

  Ulrich did not appreciate being trapped in the middle.

  “Yes, Brother James. The Admiral is an expert negotiator. He talked the Elder Council down from their demands for twenty percent renumeration after we expel the Chancellory.”

  James smiled, revealing teeth. “The Council wasn’t making a serious demand. They were always going to agree to terms after how I restored Lake Sau-Fio and stocked it with an endless supply of fish.”

  Valentin shook his head. “Ah, yes. Of course. How silly of me. All credit to the miracle man. I am curious, though. Will they be graced with any miracles when they fight for us against superior forces?”

  James’s smile disappeared. “They’ll make sacrifices, like all the others. A few broken eggs. But in the end, they’ll be liberated.”

  “Regardless of the cost.”

  “Regardless.” Ja
mes directed his brother and Ulrich to the room’s long, oblong table. “Please. We have a thick agenda.”

  James called the others over as well, and they tossed away the holowindows. Ulrich found a seat roughly equidistant from the Bouchet brothers, determined to extract himself from this pissing match. However, he realized Valentin wasn’t staring down his brother. Instead, the admiral noticed the same odd inclusions to the meeting that caught Ulrich’s eye when they entered.

  Most attendees made sense. In addition to the Triumvirate, five of the other seven hybrids attended, four of them within weeks of birthing ten new members of the next generation. One of them – Nya Pasqual – carried Ulrich’s first two children. The hybrids missing – Bartok Hyem and Joakim Cardenas – maintained officer duty. Bartok supervised engineering while Joakim took over as chief flight officer on the command bridge. Two immortals joined, both of them Officers of Salvation. Valentin’s XO, Major Rafael Kane, and Quartermaster Bridgette Dern sat on either side of the admiral.

  Curious, however, were the inclusion of James’s sons, Benjamin and Peter. They were strapping boys, now almost six feet tall despite being fourteen standard months old. Their growth through their father’s transference stunned Ulrich every time he saw them. He wondered whether James would expect Ulrich to have equal success with his own twins. Still, he’d never seen them on the command bridge or at strategy sessions, and their maturity lagged far behind their physicality or intellect. They sat next to their mother, swiveling impatiently but their lips buttoned tight.

  “Good,” Brother James said, standing at the head of the table. “Everyone’s here who needs to be. I want to make sure we have a clear plan and clear heads for the coming days. We need to be prepared to make rapid adjustments as events dictate. We …”

  Valentin interrupted. “Agree completely, brother, on your thesis. But I do wonder if this is an appropriate venue for my nephews.”

  “Ah yes. As I was telling the others before your late arrival, my sons will be attending all future strategy meetings. One day, they will lead our people, and they need to learn from us as they grow. Do you have objections?”