The Impossible Future: Complete set

by Frank Kennedy

  Oliver and Frances shared a silent aside that Michael read. They knew the answer but weren’t sure the wisdom in revealing it. Oliver scratched above his right eye.

  “It will not pose a problem,” he said. “The GPNM coordinates are immaculate. As long as the receiving signature matches the coordinates precisely, we don’t need a second Anchor.”

  “I figured as much. But even a signature pegged to a moving target as fast as a planet carries a microscopic margin of error. The Anchor compensates for that. Right?”

  “It does.”

  “If you’re off even a thousandth of a magnitude, and you got no Anchor, you could emerge inside the planet or crash into the surface before antigrav thrusters kick in. If you emerge too soon, Salvation will know you’re coming. And if they got defenses, you got trouble.”

  Oliver didn’t see him coming. The scientist opened his hands in praise, stunned by Michael’s observation.

  “Why, Michael, you sound like you should have been a consultant.”

  “Hey, like I told Frances, I read.”

  “Indeed. All your conclusions are spot-on. But there’s something you don’t know about our wonderful creation.”

  “Which is?”

  “Once the signatures and substrata are made cohesive, we can literally see the other end. If the doorway doesn’t open precisely where we desire, we program new coordinates.”

  The answer made sense. No wonder they never brought it up.

  “See? Like through a window?”

  “Almost. The foci arms that emit Void energy to the destination are embedded with visual receptors. In effect, we can scout our landing zone without anyone on that end being the wiser.”

  Michael thought it through and was dumbfounded.

  “Jesus H. Christ. You could scout a city and program specific attack instructions into every navigation cylinder.”

  “The Guard could, of course. Not us.”

  “Yeah, right. So, question number two. About those ships. From what I can see here, you couldn’t squeeze anything bigger than an uplift through the Anchor field. But Scramjets, troop transports, capital ships … you couldn’t send them through unless you retrofitted the ships or built a monstrous gate of some kind in open space. Either way, those are massive projects. They’d take months at least. What the hell is the plan?”

  Frances waved a finger in front of Oliver.

  “Now that, Mr. Cooper, strikes me as a military question. Didn’t you tell Maj. Nilsson you were not asking as a soldier of the Guard?”

  “No difference. I thought we were fighting for the same side. Presidium money, UG ships, the kibosh on Salvation. Same damn team we’re on, Frances. I reckon it’s time to put secrets aside. Maybe pull the plug on compartmentalizing. Yes?”

  He didn’t have to hear the response to know he wasn’t going to get one. Frances stepped away without another word, leaving Michael in awkward silence with Oliver and two other scientists who wanted no part of this business. Oliver lowered his voice.

  “Michael,” he said. “I suggest you take your victory in stride.”

  “What victory is that?”

  “The Anchor works, and you’ll have a chance to rescue Samantha before long. The rest is not under your purview.” Oliver stepped in close. “But if it means you’ll sleep more comfortably and ask fewer questions, I’ll say this. The device you see here is a prototype. There are many designs. We did not begin this project yesterday.”

  He gave Michael a nod and sideways glance that verified the answer was far more complicated but also available, if Michael knew who to ask, and how.

  Michael found himself socially distanced as many of the staff exited the lab. Maya waved as she trailed Cm. Cabrise outside.

  Frances caught his eye and looked away as she huddled with Maj. Nilsson. He took a moment to put together key pieces and allowed his paranoia to stir the brew a little thicker.

  What aren’t you telling me?

  Michael thought to join Percy Muldoon for that promised toast and bottle of jubriska. But reason spoke otherwise.

  He needed a clear mind. He needed answers.

  25

  M ichael heard nothing but compassion in Capt. Delano Forsythe’s tone the last time they spoke. At some level, Forsythe wanted Michael and Sam to find their way back together, even if the forces at play were above his pay grade. Michael streamed the command bridge of Praxis but was twice told the captain was in important meetings. On the third try, Forsythe emerged, his frown an instant red flag.

  “My time is limited, Michael. Please be brief.”

  “Look, Captain, I know I’m stepping outside the chain of command, but I’ve got questions, and I don’t think I’m gonna find much help down here.”

  “Regarding?”

  “The invasion. Now that the Anchor works, the Admiralty must be developing a plan. You know what this means to me and …”

  Forsythe cut him off with a curt smile. “Michael, you’re right. You went outside the chain of command. Maj. Nilsson and Cm. Cabrise are the ranking station officers. They will pass down news regarding any military action against the terrorists.”

  He tried a different tactic, knowing it would likely fail.

  “What if I weren’t asking as a soldier of the Guard?”

  “Then I would ask why you’re wearing the uniform of one. At any rate, I wouldn’t share military secrets with civilians. The Presidium reps are here to oversee funding and management of this project, not to play a role in military strategy. As I told you last time, Third Lieutenant, your job is to kill the enemy until the station no longer needs defending. Next time pursue the proper channels. I have to go.”

  The gentler, sympathetic features that drew Michael to Forsythe from his first day aboard Praxis seemed to have disappeared. Forsythe did not raise his voice, nor did he sound antagonistic. It was more a feeling Michael couldn’t pinpoint. The paranoid voice whispering in his ear said Forsythe looked like a man who was being closely monitored, perhaps even from just off-screen.

  Michael put aside that looney notion and arranged to meet Maya in the Commons for a meal. The atmosphere among the diners was lively; those who weren’t present at the Anchor test surely heard the results. Were they counting the days until they might leave this mountain?

  Maya brought her kiosk mélange of vegetables and synthesized meat to their table and sighed before taking a bite.

  “What’s wrong?” She asked.

  “Beg pardon? Looks to me, all is right with the world.”

  “Michael, we haven’t shared a meal in weeks. And you weren’t exactly celebrating this morning.”

  “Nah, it’s all good. Food looks like shit, but that’s OK. Take a few bites. I’ll do the same. Just a couple of old friends breaking bread.”

  She followed suit and then nodded across the room.

  “There’s three of your team huddled in the corner in a cloud of smoke. They’re sharing a bottle of something red. You sure you wouldn’t rather be with them?”

  He saw Kal Carver, Elizabeth George, and Matthew Learner of spec-ops when he entered and spent every second hoping not to be invited into their group. He didn’t need the distraction now.

  “The red liquor is Hansen rum,” he said. “Ever tried it?”

  “No. I heard the horror stories, Michael. Tell me, what’s wrong?”

  “Sure. But again, just treat whatever I say real casual. OK?”

  “How’s this?” She faked a tinny laugh, as if responding to one of his better jokes.

  “Awful. You want to draw attention, keep doing that. At any rate, I’ve been asking questions, and the answers ain’t exactly …”

  “What you want to hear?”

  “Or they just ain’t answers. I got the brush off from Forsythe, and I felt like Oliver Huron was trying to tell me something without spilling the hooch.”

  She laughed. This time, no fakery.

  “What’s a hooch?”

  “Who cares? What do you hear from
Aldo Cabrise?”

  “Since the test? Nothing out of the ordinary. We had a meeting to review duty assignments. He seems upbeat. Why?”

  “Has he said anything about shutdown plans? Evacuation?”

  “Nothing specific. But I know Frances Bouchet will give the word when the work here has finished.”

  Michael dug into a dish combining brown rice with corn and a stringy legume native to Tamarind.

  “Let’s put it this way: Does Cabrise tell you everything that comes down the pike?”

  “Of course not. I’m his aide, not his advisor.”

  “So, in theory, he might know what the Admiralty has in mind. He commanded two fleets. He must have connections in the GPM.”

  “Connections, yes. Friends, no. Or so he tells me. Michael, if you want to talk to the man, you know where his office is.”

  He dipped a spoon into a mango tart with a mushy crust.

  “Yeah, well, I’m thinking that’s too public. I can’t afford to get in trouble with Nilsson. He’s my commanding officer. Look, I had this kooky idea. What if Cabrise accidentally ran into me someplace where nobody would be looking?”

  She pushed her dish away. “And you want me to set it up.”

  “Yes, please. You know where.”

  “This is a gamble, Michael.”

  “It’s like you told me the other day. Some paths are unshakeable. Nobody is coming between me and Sam.”

  Michael loved trapping people with their own words. She agreed to his request and vowed to stream him the time. Yet his stream amp remained silent for more than a day. When the message finally arrived, he had little time to scurry into position.

  He arrived at the Void viewing platform, which was predictably empty. Over the past day, he heard relief and excitement about the project nearing its climax, but also a repeating theme: Everyone not on the scientific team was eager to leave the Void behind. It might have helped them make history, but they considered this arguably the most dangerous location in the Collectorate.

  Michael wore a minimal version of his Guard attire: Only the Ingmar; no blast rifle, no Lin’taava sword. He leaned against the far end of the barricade, a casual demeanor, smoking his pipe. He blew rings as he waited. Ten minutes later, he heard footsteps, which he dutifully ignored until prompted otherwise.

  Aldo Cabrise, the longest serving member of the Guard, seemed put off at first. He pivoted this way and that, double-tapped his amp, and gripped the guardrail as he amped in a message to Maya. He lowered his voice, but still within Michael’s earshot.

  “She’s not present, my dear, and if what she has to say is vital to operations, Ms. Rainer knows where I live. Please acknowledge and respond, Maya.” Seconds later, he tapped again and added, “I do not appreciate subterfuge or misdirection. If she is not here in two minutes, I am revoking your creds for the next week. Yes?”

  Michael pulled hard on the pipe and filled his lungs. After a moment of the sweet embrace, he blew out a forceful smoke stream, aimed for the Void. The strange gravitational fluctuation altered its course, as the stream held its form but drifted upward until finally impacting the energy epidermis. It vanished in a steady procession, as if being inhaled by another smoker. The momentary theatrics did the trick.

  “Do you wonder where it comes out?” Cabrise said.

  Michael shrugged. “They say it could be anywhere, sir. Another planet, another galaxy. It’s a brain-buster, for sure.”

  “Do you mind?” Cabrise held the guardrail as he reached Michael’s side and nodded toward the pipe. “I fancied myself a poltash connoisseur in the old days.”

  Michael handed over the pipe. “No offense, but my grandfather always used that phrase, ‘In the old days.’ What does that mean for you? If you don’t mind me asking, Commandant.”

  Cabrise took a short pull, allowed the smoke to dance between lips and nose, then blew it away. He returned the pipe.

  “A secret, Lt. Cooper. There’s no such title as Commandant. It’s an empty honorific bestowed on old nags like me who won’t take to pasture but have too much leverage to be demoted beneath command. Research it! You’ll not find it in the Guard C/C.”

  “So, you rank between Maj. Nilsson and Capt. Forsythe, but unofficially? How does that work?”

  Cabrise played with his unruly silver beard, which appeared as if it hadn’t been groomed in months.

  “How does any of it work these days? You and I serve a decrepit bureaucracy.” His eyes wandered off toward the Void’s green haze before Cabrise snapped back to attention, as if exiting a dream.

  “I just realized, we haven’t spoken since the unfortunate news a few days ago. I trust you’re cracking on, Lieutenant?”

  “I am, sir. I …”

  “Didn’t we promote you? Where are your stripes?”

  “The Major’s discretion, I assumed.”

  “I think not. You’ve put your life on the line every day for this station. Yet your commanding officer neglects to … when a man serves with honor and distinction, he deserves proper credit. You are not the first or last to receive this sort of callow treatment. As I said, a decrepit bureaucracy. I’ll speak with Nilsson.”

  Michael tensed. “Actually, Commandant, if you please, don’t say anything. The Major and I are on good terms, but he doesn’t believe someone who looks like me deserves to wear the uniform. Just give him a chance to come around.”

  Cabrise harrumphed. “As you wish. Nilsson is a good man, but he plays an old game. Spec-ops tend to lean hard-right. Yes? You are an endlessly controversial figure, Lt. Cooper. And that was before the notion of bringing a PA into the Guard. In fairness, there was a time I’d have sooner seen you shot than handed a uniform. The old days. The glory days. All gone now. Yes?”

  Michael put aside his fury at yet the latest proto-African reference and instead homed in on Cabrise’s nostalgia. As with every conversation, Cabrise tended to zig and zag between points. Michael took care to lead him down the right path.

  “You talk about the old days, sir, but I’ve only heard a few stories.”

  “The best ones, I trust.”

  “I know you were Admiral of the Carrier fleet above Hiebimini when everything changed in 5320. I only know bits and pieces. The Admiralty never released the full history of what happened that day.”

  Michael saw the forehead wrinkles crease together. He hit a nerve.

  “And they never will. Mark those words. Thirty million witnesses. More testimony than you could read in a year. Buried. Every cudfrucking piece of it.” He waved it off with surprising nonchalance. “When you salute the Supremes for half a century, you learn to take these things in stride. Prerogative of the Central Staff, they call it. Oh, what’s the point? It will all be over soon enough.”

  “What will, sir?”

  “The list is too long, Cooper, and time is too short.”

  Michael offered his pipe again, but Cabrise refused. Michael wasn’t sure how to pursue this subject line without giving himself away too soon. If anyone up the chain might drop a secret …

  “I understand, sir. That feels like every damn day of my life since I crossed the fold. And now, with the Anchors working, Hiebimini seems so close. But it’s really not. We’re what? Four hundred sixty-five light-years away? How much do you think it’s changed?”

  Cabrise fell silent. Michael thought the Commandant was choosing words carefully. Dare he suggest the world had turned into the paradise Salvation claimed in propaganda CVids to the indigos? Or was he debating whether to reveal classified intel?

  On both counts, Michael was wrong. He sensed it as soon as Cabrise broke his silence with howling laughter. The old warhorse rapped himself upside the head then pointed back to the mountain in jest. Finally, he pivoted his tired, battle-hardened eyes to Michael.

  “Now I see it,” he said. “She is good, that one. Played me on a string. Cooked up this little charade. Yes? She must have convinced Alayna Rainier to play a part as well, in case I reconfirmed. Oh, Michae
l, Michael. I thought you were the sort who aimed straight at the target. None of these rear-end maneuvers.”

  Michael felt as if his stomach was lodged in his chest. He didn’t bother weaseling out of the moment.

  “I apologize, sir. Please don’t go after Maya. She was doing me a huge favor. I reckoned if I got you alone and away from the office, just the two of us, maybe …”

  “Maybe what, Michael? We might speak freely because you and I are tied to Hiebimini more than anyone else here or up there?”

  “Yes, sir. I thought maybe you’d have some answers.”

  “About the invasion? Forsythe told me you contacted him. He told me to expect a visit.” Cabrise chuckled. “Minus the subterfuge.”

  Go for it, asshole. Throw the goddamn Hail Mary!

  “Sir, both of us got unfinished business out there. But something ain’t right. I feel it. You’re Commandant. You must feel it too. It’s all wrong. I don’t know why. Tell me I’m not crazy.”

  Cabrise tucked at his beard. “You’re insubordinate, Michael, but you’re not crazy. On the contrary, you wouldn’t be more right if you knew what you were talking about.”

  26

  T ELL ME. PLEASE. What am I missing?”

  Cabrise let go of the guardrail and stepped away. He reared back and studied the height of the Void, where lightshows danced in neon waves.

  “I think you already know the answer,” the Commandant said. “But you lack the courage to face it. Truth is a painful whore.” He twisted his body to follow the patterns across the breadth of the crevasse. “Some scientists believe the Void explains the entire nature of the universe. They just need to crack its code. Hmmph. They’ll never pull it off. Why? Because they’re afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “The answers. More to the point, what they do with themselves after they learn those answers. Imagine that? Take the biggest mystery off the board, and everything else becomes anti-climactic. Yes?”

  “I’m not like them, Commandant. I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “That would be your first mistake, Michael. And please, since I have apparently agreed to play my part in this subterfuge, let’s address each other as men, not soldiers. Yes? My name is Aldo.”