The Impossible Future: Complete set

by Frank Kennedy

  Valentin said nothing else as he led her through the city into a great hall where hundreds of immortals – almost all of them child soldiers – offered thunderous exuberance amid a feast grown on their new home world. The celebration threatened to raise her spirits, but Sam couldn’t escape a simple fact: Even among his adoring young warriors, Valentin never so much as forced a smile.

  Exogenesis

  Albion, Alabama

  First Earth

  5 years ago

  J AMIE SHERIDAN DID NOT FEEL LIKE AN ORPHAN. He was empty, yes, but not so much because Mom and Dad were gone. Jamie always wanted to love them, as he assumed every good son should. Yet he gave no more than they did, unable to remember the last time a Sheridan expressed love. Those three simple words? Not for months, at least. Perhaps he misunderstood. No law said parents had to hug their children, help them with homework, or defend them from accusations of juvenile delinquency. Maybe Tom and Marlena Sheridan called their approach “tough love.”

  None of this explained why they were gunned down in the master bedroom, or why it happened while both their sons were gone. Benjamin, kicked out of the house for reasons Jamie didn’t understand, drowning himself in liquor. Jamie, slinking through the dark with Michael to scout the next car they’d swipe for a joy ride.

  When the sheriff arrived at the Coopers’ place around five in the morning to deliver the news, Jamie didn’t know how to react. Crying seemed impossible – at least until Ben stumbled in hours later, the smell of liquor strong and certain. Jamie fell into his brother’s arms and dissolved into a blubbering mass. As pathetic a figure as Ben cut, he did from time to time say those three little words. After their shared sobs, the brothers dissolved into their respective corners. Jamie wanted Ben to make this all right, but Ben was already dealing with his own set of burdens. Ben rejected the Coopers’ offer to stay with them temporarily and insisted he needed to prepare the Sheridan house for the living.

  Over the next day, Jamie heard nothing beyond a few texts:

  Day and time for funeral set. Crime scene released, ready to be cleaned. Hang in there, J.

  Emptiness. Michael’s efforts to cheer him up had no effect. The Coopers made “special” meals they knew were Jamie’s favorites. He poked at the food, which any other time would have filled his plate twice over. He didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to ask why. Emptiness.

  It was almost noon. He was sitting at a picnic table under a spreading oak in the Coopers’ backyard. And then, like a revelation, he understood why he felt so disconnected. It wasn’t the loss at all.

  His future went dark. All paths appeared to be blocked.

  “What now?”

  Jamie felt a scratching deep inside his mind, followed by the whisper of a woman, as if she were so close, he might feel her breath.

  “Your confusion makes you passive,” the woman said. “This is not acceptable. Take action. Show them who you are.”

  Jamie jerked his head up, looked around, saw no one.

  “Who …?”

  “James, you’ve always known you were apart from the others. Even Michael Cooper is a toy to pass the time until your birth.”

  “The fuck?”

  No one replied. Jamie caught his breath and settled down.

  OK, so he hadn’t been sleeping. Wasn’t eating like usual, either. Maybe the joint he smoked last night was bad weed.

  “Would it be easier,” the woman whispered, “if I said you were dreaming? Would you accept me, sweet child?”

  “This ain’t no goddamn dream, and I ain’t crazy.”

  “Many will disagree, sweet child.”

  “Who are you?”

  “A companion. A friend.”

  “No. I’m losing my mind.”

  “Yes, but not in the traditional sense. For the sake of argument, sweet child, you ARE dreaming. Yes?”

  Chirping birds filled the oak trees, whose new spring leaves were still emerging. Jamie closed his eyes. Maybe she’s right. Maybe if I just go along, I’ll wake up. None of this happened. I’m not losing it.

  For a few moments, it seemed to work. He laid his head upon the bench and convinced himself he was gone to the world. This, despite the continued melody of the birds.

  “Do you wonder why you can’t see the future?” his visitor said.

  “Stop talking to me. Leave me alone.”

  “You can’t see it, sweet child, because it will belong to another.”

  “Who are you? Show me your face.”

  “As I said, this is a dream. But in this dream, I control the landscape. Yes? The only face worth seeing is the true one growing inside. You’ve seen it, James. You’ve felt it in your skin. Heard it beating in your heart. It wants to escape the prison of its programming. Its patience wears thin, but it WILL wait for its time.”

  A shroud descended around him, and Jamie entertained a new, despicable thought.

  “No,” he said. “I’m not going to do it. You can’t make me.”

  “Ah, so you DO know the face I speak of, sweet child. You need not fear it. You’ve felt the urges. You are more than broken.”

  “No. I’m not that person.”

  “Yes, you are. You have the heart of a killer. You are a monster. And when your true face is born, you will far exceed your creator’s ambition. You will lay waste to every enemy. Oceans will turn red. You will hold the compass to redefine the human race. A million years of secrets will reveal themselves. You will stand above them all and lead your people to a new home. From there, you will be revered as a god. You will slaughter all those who oppose you. This, sweet child, is who you are. Unique in the universe – this one or any other. The algorithm of time becomes clearer. The deaths of Tom and Marlena Sheridan were the necessary pivot.”

  “Stop. Just … stop. You … you’ve been in my dreams before.”

  “I have visited a few times, but mostly to observe. We should have gotten to know each other years ago, but to do so would have interfered with the algorithm. How could I undermine what we are building together?”

  “You make no sense.”

  “And yet, I make perfect sense. Think, James. How often do those darkest of possibilities creep into your mind during your waking hours? How often do you feel the murderous instinct deep in your gut? Sweet child, how often have you imagined killing your tormentors? How often do you lie awake, sweating under the covers, as you beat your enemies senseless and taste their blood on your lips? You were designed to be a monster of unprecedented scale. The program calls to you, it invites you to experience the beauty of its savagery.”

  “No. I won’t do this. I …”

  Something disrupted the dream. Someone else was here.

  “Coop? Is that you?”

  The birds still chirped, and Michael’s face was clear as day.

  “J, your brother’s here. There’s news. They got the guy.”

  The shroud did not lift.

  “J? Dude? Didn’t you hear? Sheriff arrested …”

  “I heard. Just … leave me be.”

  Jamie put his head down and dismissed the interruption.

  “It won’t bring them back,” he added.

  “No, sweet child, it will not. However, vengeance might provide a measure of satisfaction. Yes?”

  “I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”

  “I don’t need to. What happens next is already flowing through your bloodstream. It is already infused in your DNA. But what if I told you there was immeasurable joy to be found in a moment of blind fury? What if you might experience an exhilaration uncommon to humans? Creation and destruction of the universes are themselves founded on the ideals of fury.”

  “No,” he said, tossing and turning. “I want to wake up now.”

  “First, I need to make sure the algorithm is accurate, sweet child. Show me what you can become. Move us both closer to an impossible future. I will release but a fragment of your partner.”

  Tremors swelled through his b
ody, and Jamie watched the shroud lift, to be replaced by a wave of rolling fire that surrounded him. Then he saw it – his parents’ blood, splattered over the walls of their bedroom. A gunman, laughing at his grotesque art.

  “You are a monster. You are a monster. Kill him now. He deserves to be killed.”

  He didn’t hear the birds any longer; only the shrill, unending rage that crossed his lips. He sprinted, though his target was far away. He was oblivious to passing cars or strangers on a sidewalk. He did not feel the searing of his lungs.

  “I’ll kill them all. I’ll kill them all.”

  He knew the jail. He knew where to find the prisoner.

  And to that cell, he swung the baseball bat with savage abandon. Men in uniform tried to break his course, but he’d have none of it.

  He swung. He swung.

  “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you.”

  He failed. Bodies crashed upon him and dislodged the bat.

  Where did I …? What’s happening to me?

  The faces hovering above him were familiar.

  “Did the feeling bring you joy?” She asked, her whisper drowning out the voices of those who began to seem … real. “When you are freed of this temporary mind, sweet child, you will slaughter your enemies like no one before you. And when you do, a million years of planning will at last be fulfilled.”

  “Please,” he said. “Please. Stop. What am I doing?”

  “The algorithm is correct. All that’s left to know is how you will choose to end this first life. It’s a decision I cannot predict. But never fear, James. I will make certain to be with you at the end, to witness the miraculous turn. They will speak of this for an eternity.”

  “Who will?”

  “All of us. Your people. Their people. My people. And when it all ends, they will remember you as salvation AND damnation. Goodbye for now, sweet child. You will sleep and remember none of this. I will see you again on the final day. And when I come, you will know in your heart who I am. I will call myself … Lydia.”

  He woke on a cot in a cell of the Albion County Sheriff’s Office. Benjamin sat nearby. Deputy Ignatius Horne hovered outside.

  He stammered for words. “Wait, what? How did I get here?”

  Jamie didn’t believe what he heard next. A baseball bat taken from Michael’s closet? A mile-long run screaming at the top of his lungs all the way? Nearly shot by a panicked deputy?

  No. This wasn’t possible. He was …

  “I was out back,” he told Ben. “Coop said they got the guy. But …”

  “Jamie, you were in Coop’s room when I got there. You refused to come out. You don’t remember?”

  He saw the look on his brother’s face. The horror, the dismay. Maybe even a touch of pity blended in with love. But everything was shrouded. Even as he was taken home, his memory did not improve.

  Only days later, as he stood over his parents’ coffins, did the echoes return. They were distant at first, but the woman’s voice grew louder.

  “You are a monster,” she said.

  “I’ll kill them all,” he replied.

  The rest of that memory did not return for twenty-seven months. On that day, as he looked down at the pathetic Chancellors who tried to trap him in SkyTower, James Bouchet understood what he was always meant to be.

  “Know me,” he proclaimed.

  He was a monster, so he killed them all.

  PART THREE

  JAMES

  Many historians have come to accept that the Chancellory’s reign could only have ended through cataclysm. The nature of humanity is such that entrenched power and wealth does not step aside to a new cosmic order through peaceful transition. However, I doubt even the most cautious Chancellor might have foreseen the cataclysm of SY 5358.

  - Edward Faust

  - Annotation 1049-G

  - The Fall of the Collectorate, Volume 4

  15

  Command deck, Lioness

  2 days after diplomatic meeting near Mars

  B ROTHER JAMES CHOSE FIRE before blood. Fire was clean and efficient, delivered on the end of his breath. It killed with maximum agony and engulfed the victim long enough to induce abject horror with no time to beg mercy. Moreover, it drew awe and fealty from witnesses. They did not see James as a killer. Rather, he lifted voices held silent for generations. This more than anything convinced James he made the right choice in SkyTower almost three years ago.

  On that day, he stood atop an energy centrifuge, close to Rayna, returning fire as flash pegs bounced off his Guard armor. Inside the white forest of his mind, James watched as Ignatius Horne showed him the Fall of the Chancellory long ago on Hiebimini. Then Ignatius, both mentor and manipulator, laid out the options.

  “The choice is simple, James,” Ignatius told him. “When you next blink, you accept one of two outcomes. You surrender to death but preserve your humanity. Or, you accept the delusion of godhood and become their nightmare.”

  James destroyed Ignatius and did not regret his choice. Indeed, he found inexhaustible joy in vaporizing tens of thousands of Chancellors. He relished in their shock and dismay when their greatest architectural achievement fell to Earth while he disappeared among the stars.

  Yet during quiet moments between his campaigns of damnation and salvation, James returned to the white forest, wondering whether a sliver of Ignatius might have survived. He walked among leafless trees and stumps molded like warped, waxen sculptures, wondering whether he went too far. Had the opportunity arisen, he would have posed a one-word question to Ignatius:

  “Delusion?”

  They might have debated, and James would have offered proof of his success. He would have said only a god could disrupt an empire built over three millennia on the backs of thirty-five billion people. He would have said his rise was preordained. He would have pointed to Ignatius and earlier, to Lydia the so-called Mentor. This rogue Jewel, of which they were the faces, defied its programming and kept itself hidden within Jamie Sheridan because it saw the boy’s potential. It sprang into action only to push Jamie toward becoming far more than the other hybrids. It wanted him to upend the Chancellory, to learn the story of Hiebimini, and to lead the next evolution of humanity to this new Eden.

  “No delusion,” he would have told Ignatius. “I am the first day and the last day.”

  James might have enjoyed Ignatius at his beck and call, if only to demonstrate how no one – not even his wife or brother – dared to defy him. How indigos turned away from the Chancellors and bowed in his presence. How they gladly brought forth their disloyal rabble for immolation.

  “There are no delusions here,” he would tell Ignatius before making one concession. “But a god’s work never ends.”

  Even now, Brother James consumed himself with dozens of mental tasks. He looked across time and space to study the paths before his people, each at the end of a complex algorithm of causality. He thought about names for his new daughters, who would be born in a few days. He contemplated the language of burgeoning trade deals with six colonies. He considered how to expedite the fleet’s production line in order to exterminate the remaining Chancellors onboard sooner than scheduled. He developed the first virtual draft of his speech inaugurating the new capital of Hiebimini. He finalized the design of a miniature bicomm to allow instantaneous conversation with any hybrid or immortal across light-years. He compartmentalized the collective thoughts of his fellow hybrids, with whom he was in continuous contact. He walked the white forest, looking for any sign of life.

  All this and far more competed for his considerable attention as he sat in the forward captain’s dais, briefed on the latest military intelligence. Major Rafael Kane discussed his findings as Admiral Valentin listened via holowindow from the planet. His sons, Benjamin and Peter, flanked him in seats usually reserved for his brother and wife. James grew impatient when he did not hear definitive results.

  “And this is the best you have?” He asked Kane. “Four colonies? Assuming their new weapon i
s not originating on Earth.”

  “Indeed, Brother James,” Kane said, throwing up graphic interfaces of the worlds in question. “Only these worlds – Euphrates, Hokkaido, Tamarind, and Catalan – have a significant Chancellor presence, all of it non-military. Our agents have heard speculation, idle rumors, but nothing concrete. And as for Earth, we’re spread too thin to account for all the Carriers.”

  James grew frustrated. His eyes were focused in so many directions, he lost the clarity of vision which guided him before realignment.

  “How many targets on the colonies?”

  “Twenty-two, sir.”

  “Aerial defenses?”

  “None, sir. They are civilian populations.”

  Valentin interrupted. “What are you suggesting, Brother?”

  “If we eliminate colonial threats, we can turn our focus to Earth.”

  Valentin sighed. “James, we established a truce. You crafted a promotional broadcast for our allies. Any act of aggression against the colonies will undermine our message.”

  “Not if we limit casualties to Chancellors. We will say they remained behind to scheme for the Guard’s return. Therefore, they violated the truce.”

  “James, we cannot ensure indigo safety through bombardments, and we do not have a large enough army for ground assaults.”

  James turned to his twin sons, who continued to grow at a monstrous pace, rail-thin but approaching seven feet tall though they were less than two years old. They were wild-eyed and exuberant, their minds processing knowledge far beyond a Tier III education, but their social development lagged.

  “Peter, what do you think of Uncle Valentin’s caution?”

  The boy, who had his father’s nose but the ebony hair of his mother, could not contain his joy at being acknowledged.

  “Bless you, Father, bless you.” He pointed to the four colonies. “I think we should only be cautious when we might lose. Who cares if we kill a few indigos? What are the others gonna do about it? They can’t stand up to you, Father.”