Frances asked, “Do you have the answers, Delano?”
“Yes,” he said. “Time. Both sides are playing for time. Salvation is stretched too thin. By our estimates, they number in the hundreds. Maintaining a stable relationship with the colonies while doing … whatever it is … on Hiebimini must be pushing their resources to the limit. And for Poussard? She sees this as the perfect opportunity to exploit that weakness. Both sides agreed not to initiate hostile actions against the other as long as talks proceed.”
“What?” Nilsson was beside himself. “A truce?”
“Words only, Major. The Supreme Admiral made her position clear to me. We are to finish our mission. When the Anchors are ready, we will move on the Hiebimini system. However, she did also say we must maintain defensive operations only in the meantime. She insists we will not break the truce until we invade.”
“Ah,” Frances said with a carefree tone. “A ruse. Perhaps there is a modicum of logic here.”
“Captain,” Alayna said, “has this gone public?”
Forsythe sighed. “Not officially, but I’m telling you this because everyone will know soon enough. Col. Doltrice’s team monitors the public streams across Tamarind. A few hours ago, Salvation launched a new propaganda vid using footage from the secret meeting. It’s only a matter of time before every colony sees it. And then, of course, there’s Earth. It will trigger outrage.”
Michael had to know. “Captain, have you watched it?”
“Yes, Michael, I have.”
“Is … who was the Chancellor they sent?”
“I won’t lie to you. It was Samantha Pynn.”
He focused his eyes on Forsythe. He didn’t want to face the others in the room.
“She … she was forced to do it. You know that, right? What does she say in the video?”
“I’m afraid we only have a visual, no sound. James Bouchet is talking over the images of the meeting. He says the Chancellory agreed to talks because they know their rule over the Collectorate is at an end. They acknowledge Bouchet’s unlimited power. And on and on. The words of a madman.”
Only then did Michael feel the tears. He wiped them away as quickly as he could.
“This has to be a put-on. Sam would not speak for that bastard.”
“I have no answers to satisfy you. The vid shows her smiling as she talks with our civilian delegates. Poussard told me the delegates reported Sam to be upbeat and eloquent as she discussed terms. She called herself Salvation’s Ambassador to Earth. Michael, I know this is difficult. Col. Doltrice worked closely with Samantha during the Solomon uprising. He has nothing but respect for her …”
Joseph stepped in. “Michael, she’s alive. Whatever else has happened, we have our first confirmation. When all this is over, Sam will have a chance to explain her actions.”
Michael’s defenses fell as he tried to assess the inconceivable. That Sam would support a monster’s cause ... and with a smile …
“He brainwashed her,” Michael insisted. “Or worse.” He turned to those in the room. “She wouldn’t do this. Not of her own free will.”
He saw their doubts, which Frances confirmed.
“Are you so sure, Mr. Cooper? The first prerogative of a true Chancellor is to pursue survival through any necessary means. Victory is morality. Isn’t that right, Major?”
Nilsson squared his shoulders. “Indeed. The Guard’s mantra.”
“No. Not Sam.” Michael wanted to crush her neck.
“Perhaps,” Frances said, “she found herself in such desperate straits that she made a bargain with her old and dear friend. Perhaps she saw a way to make herself useful and give my son the time he needed to shore up his hold on the colonies. She …”
“One more word, Frances, and I’ll kill you where you stand.”
Michael placed a hand over his Ingmar. Nilsson stepped in.
“Cooper,” he said. “Stand down, Lieutenant.”
Michael’s trigger hand quivered as he backed off.
Nilsson breathed on him. “You are a soldier of the Guard, and you will damn well comport yourself as such. Am I clear, Lieutenant?”
He struggled to look his superior in the eyes.
“Yes, sir. I apologize, sir.”
Nilsson squeezed a hand on Michael’s shoulder.
“Good.” He turned to Forsythe. “Captain, I recommend you block this transmission from the base staff’s internal streams. Its content will cause an unnecessary disruption and may compromise one of my team. I suggest we broadcast only that this conference took place and that it does not impact our operations on Tamarind.”
Michael heard no objections.
“I concur,” Forsythe said. “Col. Doltrice and I considered the potential complications. However, I must swear each of you to silence on the matter of Samantha Pynn. Her role will only inflame opinion, especially given her relationship to Michael and the hand she played in ending the Guard occupation of Earth. Please encourage everyone to continue the mission with all due speed and efficiency. This is an off-book operation. Nothing must threaten its success. Say you all?”
Everyone affirmed his request, even Frances. But few met his eyes, and Michael expected their suspicions to run wild. Many Chancellors never gave up on the conspiracy theory that Michael and Sam were working with James all along, and that they staged their near-deaths in Philadelphia Redux the day SkyTower fell.
Forsythe called the meeting to an end, but not without a postscript. “Michael. Stay.”
The others left, including Cabrise. On her way out, Maya leaned into Michael and said: “Find me. We’ll talk this through.”
The room now empty, Michael faced only Forsythe and Doltrice.
The captain looked grim and pale.
“Michael, we will do everything we can for her. However, I want to be fair to you, especially after the enormous lengths you have gone to rescue her.”
“What are you saying, Captain?”
“When we are finally able to assault Hiebimini, I fear Sam will no longer be classified as a prisoner of war.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means no special care will be taken to save her from becoming collateral damage. The mission goal will be to eliminate Salvation and all collaborators. Poussard is walking a fine line. She will not be able to justify protecting Samantha. I’m sorry, Michael.”
7
M ICHAEL WAS DRUNK BEFORE he stumbled upon some of his comrades in the canteen an hour later. They didn’t notice him enter. They were toasting, their glasses high, and a cloud of poltash smoke lording above them. He threw back the last of his second bottle of jubriska and rummaged through pouches on his body armor, looking for his own pipe.
“Here’s to fifty dumbass indigos,” he shouted. “Fuck them.”
The spec-ops team broke their toast and cheered Michael on.
“Cooper,” Percy Muldoon waved. “Pull in here, you beast.”
Michael tapped his pipe and slithered into a seat between 1st Lt. Muldoon and Col. Rachel Broadman, who turned up a fresh glass and slid it next to his empty bottle. She grabbed a carafe with sparkling red liquor and poured him a shot.
“Still wasting your life on jube?” She laughed. “Lock your teeth into a shot of Hansen rum, you miserable A-Spec.”
Michael filled his lungs with poltash and held the glass eye level.
“Never heard of it.”
“They do one thing right on Hansen’s Landing.” She pointed to the carafe. “A sorry lot, but they know how to drink.”
He exhaled smoke and threw back the rum. In fact, Michael did hear about Hansen rum – something along the lines of flames searing off the back of one’s throat – but after two bottles of jubriska, Michael detected no particular charge from Rachel’s favorite drink. His non-reaction drew mind-boggled stares from his team.
“That’s it?” Percy muttered. “Damn, Cooper, you must be blottered.” He turned to Rachel. “Didn’t Nilsson say this one spent an hour in a medpod re
g?”
Rachel grabbed Michael’s face and looked deep into his eyes. “Muldoon makes a good point, which is a rare treasure. How many synthetics did they pump you with?”
“Dunno.” He sniffed. “Enough so I’m ready to kill more Mongols tomorrow. Because fuck if that ain’t why we’re here. Right?”
“Top ‘em off and stack ‘em up,” said 1st Lt. Matthew Learner, sitting across the table. “They damn near stacked on top of you this morning, Cooper. Going to lose your edge if you’re not careful.”
Michael wasn’t so plastered to realize those were the most words Matthew ever spoke to him in one sitting. Matthew was a hardline Chancellor, from an old-school descendancy. Michael saw the man’s umbrage and disdain buried in that rigid jaw and the brow that tensed in Michael’s presence. He never taunted Michael; the distance and the silence were more troubling. Michael assumed if he were killed on this mission, Matthew would hold the blast rifle.
“Man, you say it like you care.” Michael motioned for another shot of rum. “Me? Shit. I got a permanent edge. People been trying to waste my ass for three years. Pretty fucking good aim, too. But me? By next morning, I’m right as the driven snow.” He laughed. “Reckon I’m mixing my metaphors, but I’m blottered. Who cares?”
He held his second rum as if to offer a toast.
“And by the way, my brothers and sister, I am not an A-spec anymore. You are looking at a third lieutenant. Cheers.”
Percy slapped Michael on the back. “Four paces up the chain? Now that’s worth a round. You’re serious, right?”
Rachel leaned over. “Nilsson told me you’d earned enough keep for a promotion, but that’s a tall climb.”
“Weren’t Nilsson. It was Cabrise. Having one of his shows. You know how he gets when he wants to feel important.”
“He is,” Matthew said, setting down his drink. “Longest active duty in the Guard. He commanded fleets.”
“Didn’t mean nothing by it, Learner.”
“But now he’s a lonely asshole past his prime.” Matthew hinted at a smile. “Hanging on to an obsession. He’s a miserable cud.”
Matthew raised his glass until the others joined him.
“To 3-L-T Cooper. As soldiers go, I’ve seen worse.”
In better times, Michael would have welcomed any sign of warming from Matthew, but it struck him as little more than the byproduct of post-combat exuberance. Earlier, after Michael stormed out on Capt. Forsythe and retreated to his quarters, he opened the first bottle of jubriska and planned to keep chugging until his supply ended. Yet the thought of being a lonely drunk seemed pathetic somehow, so he searched for those who might share in his alcohol-infused excursion.
“Way I’m going,” he said, “I reckon all I need is to kill a hundred more people, give or take, and I’ll be giving orders to you lot.”
“Nice thought, Cooper,” Matthew said through a stern jaw. “But if it were all about kills, I’d be a rear admiral. And Broadman, here? She’d still be my superior. No. Command is about descendancy and leverage. Always has been.”
Percy nodded. “And always will be, however short.”
“You,” Matthew told Michael, “have no descendancy, but you have a through-line to a supreme. You two survive the next six months, Poussard is just crazy enough to make you a CO.”
Michael thought he should be offended, but the talk about Supreme Admiral Angela Poussard’s policies since halting the Guard invasion of Earth came under withering criticism down the chain of command. Too soft. Doesn’t understand tradition. Traitor to Elevation Philosophy. And on it went. Michael understood what Forsythe meant by Poussard’s “fine line” in choosing to bail on Samantha should the invasion of Hiebimini be successful.
“Six months?” Michael joked. “I don’t think ahead six hours.”
“Obviously.” Matthew sipped his drink. “Or else you would have realized that a synth regimen followed by jube and rum is like to send you back to medpod for a day or two.”
“Shit. Nilsson threatened me with Praxis. They ain’t gonna send me anywhere. Those goddamn Mongols will get what’s coming, first thing at dawn.” Michael realized who was missing. “What’s up with Carver and George?”
Percy threw back his rum. “Disposal duty.”
“Just the two of them?”
“Their shift,” Rachel said. “You know the drill, Cooper. Drone scoopers do most of the heavy lifting.”
“Biggest haul to date,” Percy added. “Love to know what the clan does with their bodies. Burn? Bury?”
“Don’t matter.” Michael surveyed the team. “We shouldn’t be giving them back. They send those morons out here so we can blast them. Damn scoopers dump that shit outside their village, and the clan just sends more after us. We should give them what they came for. Throw them into the Void. They’re dying for it anyway.”
“Not a bad idea,” Percy said. “Of course, you’re the last man here to think of it.”
Matthew nodded. “Nilsson took it before Cabrise and Forsythe weeks ago. Shot down.” He sighed. “Kill ‘em but don’t piss ‘em off. Madness. The Guard doesn’t cast a shadow anymore.”
“None that I can see,” Rachel said. “We had enough battalions to hold every colony under martial law, but not enough to take out the great Brother James and his band of freaks. This Guard you see today, Cooper? Nothing like it used to be.”
Michael heard the solemn, resentful tone in their voices, but he went for humor, using both hands to frame his face and adding:
“Pretty much.”
They didn’t laugh, but Michael assumed they understood.
“You won’t be the last,” Matthew said. “Not if Poussard has her way.” He shifted his eyes to all. “We know it’s coming. The longer realignment lasts, the harder it’s going to be to reclaim the colonies. But there’s one way the Admiralty could do it. Indigo enlistment.”
Rachel and Percy nodded. “Cooper here,” she said, “will be the most famous PA in the Collectorate. Learner’s right. If we can train you to be a soldier of the Guard, what’s to stop every black cud on Zwahili Kingdom from joining our merry band?”
Michael tensed. “Broadman, you call me a fucking proto-African?”
“Am I wrong?”
“You know I hate that shit. And yeah, you’re wrong. Me? I … I’m an African-American. That’s what they called me on first Earth. When they were being nice or politically correct or …” He wanted to slug her, but it was just Rachel winding him up. She played the game every time she wanted something more. Michael didn’t care.
“Good try, Colonel. Give me a few hours off the jube and rum, and I’ll show some more of that PA magic you love.”
She grabbed his crotch. “Hours? No, no. That won’t do. We’re cutting you off, Cooper. Got that, gents?”
He and Rachel hadn’t been together in more than a week. It was always on her schedule, when Rachel decided she needed to unleash the energy bottled up in this claustrophobic base. Outside of the brief dawn battles and body cleanup, the life of spec-ops inside Ericsson station consisted of drinking, smoking, and waiting. At first, Michael thought she chose him because she wanted fresh meat that was wild and untamed. Once, during the height of intercourse, he offered an old saw he remembered from first Earth: “Once you go black, you never go back.” Her response? Rachel bared her teeth like she did on Michael’s first day of training then proceeded to pound him with a vicious right hook.
Michael got the message, but when he pulled himself up off the floor, Rachel was waiting for him, hand extended. They resumed.
He thought Rachel was likely a beautiful woman, not a creature built as powerfully, as masculine, and as savage as any man. He saw it sometimes in jade eyes that reflected a sweeter, gentler woman hidden behind the façade of warrior. Her hair was buzzcut around the sides and back, with a swoop of snowflake blond over the top.
“I don’t love her,” he told Maya not long after the sex began. “Never could. But I want her. Every-damn-tim
e I see her, I wanna be with her. It ain’t about Sam. It’s what I need.”
“And why is that?” Maya asked.
She always asked, but Michael never answered.
He knew why, of course. Once in a while – usually when he was drunk – the answer climbed its way out of those hidden recesses in his subconscious. It clamored for an audience.
Today, it hounded him again. Two bottles of jubriska, a medical reg, and rum kickers almost lowered the defenses. Instead, he washed it away by focusing on Forsythe’s confounding news. He wondered what the vid of Sam sitting between two immortals must have looked like; why it was so devastating that even Michael was barred from seeing it. And then there was the extra tidbit of news Forsythe delivered before dismissing him.
“Michael,” the captain said, “remember how I told you Salvation initiated the diplomatic talks? It was Samantha; she contacted Poussard herself. Broke through the Admiralty’s security protocols and entered Poussard’s stream amp directly. She said Samantha was calm, friendly, reasonable, as if it were a routine business matter. Michael, she does not rule out mind control, but it is the Supreme Admiral’s position that Samantha knows exactly what she is doing.”
He opened the first bottle of jubriska five minutes later. Now, as banter in the canteen moved away from a Michael-centric focus, he stared into an empty glass until, without warning, soft words crossed his lips. Michael whispered what he hoped the liquor would suppress.
“She’s a traitor.”
8
H E DIDN’T WANT TO BELIEVE IT. Every ounce of logic begged him to be patient, to wait for the truth. Yet months earlier, James made a promise to Sam: “I will realign the Collectorate, and you will be at my side to map the future. You will do this willingly and without Michael.”
Willingly. The word ate at his gut more than the combined fuel of rum and jubriska. She was Salvation’s ambassador. She smiled as she negotiated. “Samantha knows exactly what she is doing.” If Poussard lost faith, who would stand in Sam’s corner?
The Impossible Future: Complete set Page 111
