The Impossible Future: Complete set

by Frank Kennedy

  “And these movies? I assume the characters traveled in spaceships. Yes? How do ours compare to theirs?”

  Michael scratched his head. “Not too far off, now that I think about it. But they did zip around the galaxy a lot faster. Warp speed. Hyperspace. Got to say, I’m a little disappointed you guys never conquered light speed.”

  “I’m an old soldier. I was never strong in quantum math.”

  Michael allowed the conversation to die as he studied the view. He caught sight of one of the hundreds of titanic Ark Carriers orbiting Earth. The sight was awe-inspiring, but Michael tempered his excitement. He couldn’t reconcile the caste that built those ships with the assholes who used them to run an empire. Now, he was in league with them.

  “I need your help, Joseph.”

  “With?”

  “I want to be a proper soldier. Strike that. I need to be. I need to know everything. Battlefield strategies, fighting techniques, all of it. Whatever physical training, I’m ready. Don’t matter how brutal. I need you to turn me into a fucking beast.”

  “I see. You do understand it might be some time before we enter the Hiebimini system.”

  “I do, so I’ll have all the time in the world to train. I’m not as big as a peacekeeper, but I can hold my own. I’m going to rescue Sam, and I’m going to kill James myself. I reckon there’s gonna be a shitload of people coming between me and them. That’s just more people I’m gonna have to kill.”

  Joseph grinned. “Your attitude is on-point. I believe our spec-ops team would love new meat.”

  Michael extended his hand. They shook.

  “Thank you, Joseph.”

  “Belay your thanks until after we grind you down.”

  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.

  All my love forever.

  Your son, Michael.

  Three hours into the mission, the executive members gathered in the Level 2 Commons. Michael heard a rumor that the Praxis slowed to pick up a transport with VIPs. Michael knew many of those gathered, but mostly by reputation or through live stream meetings. Presidium execs, special operations officers, shipboard staff, and a large contingent of scientists dominated the room. As they waited for the captain, most nodded to Michael or whispered encouragement, but he felt the same underlying message ever-present since Day One: You are not one of us and never will be.

  Capt. Delano Forsythe represented the Admiralty’s interests, but he did not arrive in full Guard regalia. In fact, none of the Guard bore their uniforms or insignias. He was a good seven feet tall but slender, and his mustache was as white as his hair was black. He called the session to order. Michael took a seat next to Joseph.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Citizens of Earth. Citizens of the Collectorate. It is my honor to lead us on this historic journey. I wish to begin by passing along three important messages from Supreme Admiral Poussard. This information is for your ears only.

  “One. The Praxis will bear no flag. We are a research vessel seeking new sources of untapped energy. Naturally, our scientific team requires security. Any connection to the Guard is purely coincidental. Everyone onboard this ship is a citizen of equal stature. The era of the caste system is ending. Admiral Poussard expects that division to be non-existent on this ship.

  “Two. We will not be able to enter the Hiebimini system in the near term. Probes have demonstrated that the enemy has mined the Nexus point with the same weapons it used on the Carriers. Therefore, any attempt at rescue and recovery will be delayed.”

  The Captain glanced Michael’s way. He knew this was possible. If the system was open, the Guard would have retaliated at once. So, it wasn’t going to be a direct line. But if Sam could hold on a little longer, endure whatever that bastard was putting her through, Michael intended to make everything right.

  “Three. While it might appear to some that the Guard have been sitting on their collective asses while the terrorists caused death and destruction, this is not true. We believe we have found another way in. A potential tech that might surpass anything known to Bouchet and his abominations. We will be traveling to Tamarind. We will arrive in ten days. Additional mission parameters will be provided on an as-need basis. Questions?”

  A spec-ops officer stood. “Captain, are we truly so paranoid of the terrorists that we have to disguise ourselves this way?”

  “No, Specialist George. This is about pragmatism, not paranoia. Until we have leveled the field in regard to wormhole travel and have an unobstructed path to Hiebimini, the Supreme Admiral insists we put no more humans at risk. Not only Chancellors, but indigos as well. James Bouchet has followers on many worlds – especially Tamarind. We cannot tip our hand.”

  Michael heard nothing else interesting as the questions burrowed into the mission details. He was ready to retire to his quarters when Capt. Forsyth made a final announcement.

  “I had hoped to introduce the last two members of our crew at a later time. However, they availed themselves here despite my request to the contrary.” Michael looked past the turning heads, but he wasn’t sure whom Forsyth was pointing out.

  “These two individuals not only have special insight into the terrorists, but they are acquainted with the operations on Tamarind.” He beckoned them forward. The couple struck Michael as regal, the worst kind of Chancellors, in his book.

  “May I introduce you to Emil and Frances Bouchet.”

  Murmurs circulated the room. Michael needed seconds to make the connection. No way.

  They glided into the Commons as if levitating. Michael recognized the family resemblance.

  “Yes,” Forsythe said. “James and Valentin Bouchet’s parents. Contrary to reports, they did not perish in SkyTower. I realize some of you may have a problem with their presence, but I assure you, they will be of great value to our mission.”

  Emil stepped forward, waving off Forsythe.

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “I see it in your eyes. Some of you remember what the SkyTower inquest determined about my wife and myself, but I guarantee the inquest was a miscarriage. And if you are concerned about family ties, allow me to settle your qualms. No two people alive want to see our sons dead more than we. Our allegiance is to the restoration of the natural order and reestablishment of the Collectorate. Now, if you please, Captain. We are exhausted and famished. Good day to all.” He eyed the room and spotted Michael.

  “And especially you, Mr. Cooper. We will be speaking soon. Yes?”

  Michael restrained himself. He wanted to protest, but suspicious eyes were already focused upon him. What was Poussard thinking? These two were convicted of crimes against humanity. They created the hybrids and the immortals.

  As the meeting ended, Capt. Forsythe intercepted Michael.

  “I apologize for that last bit of theatrics. I know their presence will be difficult for everyone. But we have to compromise if this mission is to succeed. I want us to reach Hiebimini. I want to bring the Bouchets to justice. And Michael, I want you to find that young lady you love. Emil and Frances are a means to that end.”

  “So, you need me to play nice?”

  He patted Michael on the back. “That would be appreciated.”

  Later, at dinner, Michael told Maya about the Bouchets.

  “I don’t care what they say, those two are in it for themselves. They’re the worst kind of Chancellors. Predators. Like the assholes who attacked you.”

  He di
d not expect her response.

  “Michael, every human is a predator at heart. Don’t you know this? Some of us are simply better at taming the creature within.”

  “Damn. And I thought I was down on these people.”

  “Get the Bouchets out of your skin, Michael. Remember: You have friends here. Do they?”

  He drank from a glass of jubriska. “I see your point.”

  “And if they become a nuisance, push them out an airlock.”

  “Say what?”

  She couldn’t stop laughing. “It was a joke. Well. Maybe.”

  “No. You’re right. Screw the Bouchets. Parents, sons, the whole goddamn lot of them. I do have friends. And I’m gonna need every one of them.”

  “There’s the Cooper spirit. And speaking of jokes, why don’t you tell me a few, Mr. Comedian. But not the ones you used onstage at Entilles. Do you know anything good from your first Earth?”

  Michael spent so much time crafting irony for a Chancellor audience, he’d forgotten most of the best lines from his childhood.

  “Anything?” He said.

  “Try me.”

  “OK. It’s pretty basic shit, but here goes. Knock-knock.”

  Maya said nothing, as if waiting for more. Michael saw his error.

  “I say knock-knock, and you say, ‘Who’s there?’”

  She frowned. “And why would I say that?”

  “Because it’s … never mind. We got plenty of time for jokes.” He raised his glass. She did the same. “Here’s to friends.”

  They clanked their glasses. Maya added a toast.

  “To those present, and to those not forgotten.”

  Michael was thankful Maya joined the mission.

  “To Sam. Don’t worry, babe. I’m coming.”

  The saga now concludes in The Promised Few …

  The

  Promised

  Few

  The Impossible Future: Book Four

  Frank Kennedy

  c. 2020 by Frank Kennedy

  All rights reserved

  Exogenesis

  Albion, Alabama

  First Earth

  5 years ago

  M ICHAEL COOPER DIDN’T TAKE TO WEED like every other freshman he knew. Yeah, the high was satisfying enough, and getting away with it even better. But the taste? Just a’ight. He’d rather go for a five-finger discount of his dad’s beer and take on a nice afternoon buzz. Problem was, his No. 1 bro wasn’t having it. Jamie couldn’t stand the smell of alcohol. He did, however, love a joint every day – and that was before his parents were gunned down in the master bedroom.

  Michael scored enough weed to keep the two of them smoking for a few weeks, courtesy of his cousins in Starkville. Great product, they claimed. Best in Mississippi, they said. And then they offered Michael a family discount. How could he refuse?

  So, Michael was ready to light up an hour after the Sheridan funeral, waiting for his best bud at their usual spot along the Alamander River. They’d met here for the first time seven years ago, when Michael stumbled upon Jamie while “cracker hunting.” A few minutes after a tense introduction, they shared a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Michael never went cracker hunting again, and the two shared each other’s lives. “Thicker than thieves,” Michael’s mother often said, unaware how accurate she was. That they’d never been caught continued to stun Michael, who’d lay down good money they were due.

  After this week’s events, they’d have no choice but to back off for a spell; they couldn’t skulk about in the shadows unnoticed anymore. Michael lit a joint and prepared a whole speech for Jamie on just that subject. He hoped Jamie would bite, but Michael wasn’t sure. The boy he saw at the funeral was a stranger. A cold, empty stare. Robotic handshakes and hugs. Michael didn’t understand that type of grief. He’d never been to a funeral full of white folks. On his side of town, they sent their people off with full-throated tears and laughter, a healthy round of “Praise Jesus,” and more food than a family could eat in a year. Today’s experience was so awkward, so tense, so brief that Michael wasn’t sure he’d see Jamie afterward … until he received a text.

  Jamie arrived in blue jeans, tie-dyed t-shirt, and baseball cap. Michael saw it under the shadowed brim: Bags from days without sleep but eyes laser-focused, as if on a caffeine rush. Jamie didn’t have to ask when he sat on the boulder next to Michael, who handed him the joint. He inhaled without a word.

  Michael didn’t care for the silence, but he treaded carefully.

  “Dude. What did Ben say when you decided to bug out of there?”

  Jamie pulled another drag. “Dunno. He went for a six-pack soon as we got home. I didn’t tell him shit.”

  “Why’d you guys go back there? Did folks drop off any food?”

  “A couple three casseroles. I weren’t paying them any mind.”

  “That’s it? Sorry, J. Figured people would be more generous, if you get my speed. After what happened.”

  Jamie shrugged. “Why? We didn’t do church, and people always thought us Sheridans had a cob up our ass anyway.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I heard how folks talked, and yeah, maybe your parents weren’t always the warmest, but these are good Christian people around these parts. They bury the hatchet when neighbors meet their Maker. Leastwise, they try to.”

  Jamie shared his joint. “You’re funny, Coop.”

  “I get it, dude. You ain’t real high on people right now, after what that asshole did. But he’s …”

  “You mean the shit that took a double-barrel shotgun into my folks’ bedroom and painted the goddamn walls with their guts?”

  Michael felt the eggshells crushing beneath his feet.

  “Yeah, J. That guy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”

  “Don’t matter, Coop. None of it matters.”

  “Sure, it does. They were your folks. You loved them. You found them, J. I think … I just think you ought to …”

  After another drag, Jamie finished the sentence.

  “Talk about it. That what you think, Coop?”

  “Sure. Yeah. I mean, it don’t have to be me, even though I am your best bud and we talk about everything else. But dude, nobody goes through something like that without it messing with their mind.”

  Michael reached for the joint, but Jamie didn’t share.

  “I got it under control, Coop.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I just …” He took a drag. “Just wanna put it away. Pretend it never happened. Life’s for the living. Ain’t that what they say?”

  “I reckon they do, but we don’t pretend shit never happened. I mean, every time you come home, it’s just gonna be you and Ben. You can’t …”

  “Ben. Right. You know, he told me yesterday we can’t afford the house. There’s no money. He talked to the lawyer. Dude said if they did put anything away for us, they didn’t tell him. Ben went through all their shit. They left one grand in the bank and a second mortgage on the house. We’re fucked.”

  “How long?”

  “Dunno. Said he’d talk to a real estate agent. But he said the market’s bad if you’re selling a murder house. Coop, it’s like they didn’t care. Made everybody think they were all high and mighty, but it was just a scam.”

  “No life insurance? Everybody’s got insurance, right?”

  “Not the Sheridans. Planning for the future weren’t their gig.”

  The picture grew darker than Michael realized, and they still hadn’t touched on the most sensitive topic. He tried to drop hope into the mix.

  “J, I’m sure Ben will figure out something. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, and you’re his little bro. He’ll look out for you. Soon as the town knows what you guys are going through, people will step up. You’ll see.”

  “What people?”

  “Dunno. How about the Hugginses? They look like they got it made, and they were pretty much your parents’ best friends, right?”

  “Yeah, dude. Sure. I can see it now. Walt Huggins i
nviting us to live with them and Sammie. Not in this fucking universe.”

  “Maybe not. But they could always loan you guys money. Or you could keep bunking with me. Going back to your house? Dude. It’s creepy. I’ll bet if I asked my folks about …”

  Jamie interrupted, as if he hadn’t heard a word.

  “Sammie? Jesus. She calls like twenty times a day. I got all these messages. I’m wanna tell her to leave me the hell alone.”

  “Yeah, but you won’t cause you know she’s sweet on you, and she ain’t never done you wrong. I reckon she’d probably crawl through broken glass if you asked real nice.”

  Jamie laid back on the boulder and smoked.

  “She’s weird, Coop. Something off about all them Hugginses.”

  “That’s what you say about everybody in town.”

  “Pretty much. I like Iggy Horne. He’s cool. Seems like he cares.”

  “As cops go, I reckon he’s a stand-up guy. But look, J. I’m just saying things’ll work out for you and Ben. Don’t be so damn proud you don’t ask for a little help. That’s all.”

  Michael leaned back beside his best friend and studied the clouds. They shared the joint until it was cooked. After a long, stale silence, Jamie surprised Michael.

  “You wanna know why I did it. That’s why we’re here. Right?”

  “Only if you want to talk about it, J.”

  “I saw the way everybody looked at me during the funeral. Wondering if I’ll flip out again. Making my reservation for the loony bin.”

  “No, man. Folks understand. You were in shock. It’s just … well, it ain’t the way people in shock usually act. Especially a kid. That’s all.”

  “Maybe more folks ought to try it. Get all that shit off their chest.”

  “Don’t know about that.” Jamie was right; Michael had been trying to steer the conversation toward the day after the killings. The eyewitness stories were rampant, the rumors worse, and neither Jamie nor Ben seemed willing to talk about it. Little towns like Albion thrived on gossip, and what really happened would turn into local mythology without the truth.